


Rain on Me

by TheBrainsStruggle



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Self Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrainsStruggle/pseuds/TheBrainsStruggle
Summary: Set at the end of season 1. Lancelot is trying to find himself and a place he belongs. Gawain swings between nurturing to wondering if he just makes life harder for himself. Percival raises hell.
Relationships: Gawain | The Green Knight/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

Pain spread like fire across his left side. His shoulder throbbed with the pain. In his confusion, Lancelot struggled to right himself and pulled in a deep breath. He fell. He didn't remember his eyes closing or falling asleep. But he fell, hard, on to his already injured side. 

The dirt formed a cloud around his face, causing him to choke a bit when he cried out. The small child, Squirrel, was already yelling about him falling. 

“Be quiet,”he hissed as he rolled to face him. Goliath stomped his feet, irritated with the situation as well. Lancelot flopped on to his back, immediately regretting the decision as the pain sharpened. His breaths came quick and heavy. He tested his injury by touching his stomach only to find it come back red, wet, and sticky. It hadn't stopped bleeding then. It was no wonder he passed out. 

“Lancelot?” He looked up to see Squirrel peering at him, kicking his leg in boredom and only making Goliath anxious. The prospect of standing, let alone getting on the horse, was daunting. 

“Leave without me,” he said as he forced himself to his feet. 

“You'd die without me,” the child snarked at him. His face pinched with worry. He at least knew there was concern, Lancelot thought.

“You're not wrong,”he groaned as he climbed up. Once he settled, he placed one hand on his wound, attempting to put pressure on it. They moved. Goliath held a steady pace. It wasn't particularly fast and it jolted him back and forth. They weren't really going anywhere but away. Lancelot was still trying to come up with a plan. He needed a healer. They needed a safe shelter. Food. Percival's stomach gave a loud rumble that they both ignored. There was no point in drawing more attention to that fact. 

Lancelot glared up at the sky. They had fled the camp around day break. It was well into the afternoon, only getting hotter. He took Goliath off path. Surprisingly the child didn't protest. He looked around curiously. Lancelot stopped the horse and slid off only to crumple to the ground. He scooted until his back was up against the trees. He was wincing against the pain, holding his injury tightly. 

There was a soft thump as Percival hit the ground. “I'm going to look for food,” he stated. Lancelot's eyes snapped open. “No! The Red Paladin's are still out there, it's too dangerous.”

Percival rolled his eyes. “I've already gotten away from them twice.” 

“I let you go both times!: Lancelot cried but he couldn't be sure the child heard him, Percival was already bouncing off into the green. It wasn't as though he had the energy to go after him so he waited. Ears twitching at every sound. He wasn't far. Lancelot could hear him, could smell him, and there was nothing else in the area as far as he could tell. He allowed himself to relax, drifting in and out of sleep as he tried to stay aware of Percival.

When he woke, he was face first in the dirt. His back felt cool and someone was rubbing something into his injuries there. He tried pushing himself up but a strong hand firmly pressed him back down.

“Let me finish,” the voice a familiar one. 

Lancelot stirred again, trying to get a look at his healer. He met the eyes of the Green Knight who gave him a smile.

“You saved Percival.”

“We saved each other,” he replied. “The child has more courage than most men.” He let out a hiss as Gawain applied more poultice to a particularly angry mark on his back. “He picked up a sword twice his size and attempted to take on the Trinity Guard.”

Gawain paused in his work and scoffed. “He has no sense of self-preservation.” 

Gawain resumed his work, speaking old fae softly as gentle fingers pressed the cooling poultice into angry wounds. The hair on the back of Lancelot's head stood on end. His back was no longer hurting and the touch felt nice. He couldn't remember when someone had touched him with kindness. A knot of guilt settled in his stomach and he pushed himself up and away, leaning against a tree and letting the bark bite into his skin. Pain was cleansing. 

Gawain sat back on his haunches, frowning at him. “You're going to undo all of my work. Your back needs time to heal,” he was looking him in the eye. Lancelot wanted to look away but didn't want to come off us cowardly. He held his gaze and Gawain asked, “Who did this to you?”

That took him by surprise and before he thought about his answer, he said, “I did.”

“Why?” 

Lancelot cocked his head, the answer seemed obvious. “Have you forgotten I'm demon born?”

Scoffing, Gawain got to his feet and dusted off his pants. “You're Fae Kind, not demon born.”

“The pain is cleansing my sins.”

“Do you mean your sin of murder and ruined lives?

The Monk didn't respond, he just held his gaze. His jaw set tightly. 

“Yes? Is that a yes?” Gawain prodded, his eyebrows went up. He pointed a finger at him. “Being born what you are is not a sin.”

Squirrel came crashing into their little camp. “I caught two rabbits and found some berries,” He declared, throwing them at Gawain's feet. His lip twitched up into a smile.

“Well done. Now, you can start a fire and cook those rabbits.”

The child and Gawain mostly occupied themselves, talking about Lancelot but not really to him. Which suited him fine. He didn't belong. He felt like he was pretending but at what he wasn't even sure. It made him want to crawl out of his skin. His mind rolled with thoughts of guilt and failure. 

“Why?” 

The question went unanswered until Lancelot realized it was aimed at him. They were both watching, waiting. He wasn't going to respond, he decided. He didn't really understand his own reasoning besides he just didn't want to see the fae child killed. He clasped his hands together and ducked his head in prayer. 

There was a sound of indignation from the child but the knight shushed him. Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief and continued to pray until the two had gone to sleep and the fire had mostly died out. He cracked his eyes open and finally relaxed. A small bit of cooked rabbit was set on a piece of bark in front of him. His stomach growled at the sight. He quickly glanced at the others to be sure they were asleep before devouring the food. He wouldn't sleep this night. He would keep guard.


	2. Chapter 2

It became routine for Lancelot to fall into prayer to avoid awkward interactions with the other two. It felt safe and isolating. He didn't have to think about his Father being dead or why he made the decisions he had. Just the same words, recited over and over. His traveling companions were not happy about it. Twice now, Gawain has grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tried dragging him to his feet. Lancelot had jerked away both times, not faltering in prayer. 

They kept going west. Lancelot's wound continued to break open during their travel. It was never really healing. If he managed to get the bleeding to stop, hours on the back of a horse would have it gushing once more. Sometimes he dozed, dizzy from the blood loss. He trusted that Goliath would follow the others. 

They settled for the afternoon near the water, but still far enough away to avoid groups. They needed to eat and regroup. Squirrel was climbing the tree they had stopped under for shade. Lancelot's hobbled to it and then dropped. He pulled out a medical bag and began trying to stop the bleeding, a futile effort but necessary. No longer distracted he finally recognized what he was smelling. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his stomach dropped.

“We need to move,” He said sternly, standing with great effort and packing his things up. “Percival, get down.”

“What is it?” Gawain asked. He stood next to his horse, putting his bag back on to it. The sun shone in Lancelot's eyes, so he couldn't read his expression.

“Man blood, I can smell them. If we go now we can avoid them.”

Percival dropped down between them. Lancelot motioned to Goliath, but instead of following him Percival went to The Green Knight and got on his horse. Lancelot tried not to react. They weren't friends and the child hadn't ridden with him since that first night. 

They moved off the trail. Lancelot pulled down his hood so he had better sight and smell. He didn't like his cross being visible but no one was currently behind him. His nostrils flared as the scent of man blood grew weaker. He felt a bit of unease not knowing where they were even knowing that meant there was considerable space between them. Finally, Gawain rode up beside him.

“Are they still near? Are they following us?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“They have our tracks,” he said simply and urged his horse faster. Gawain kept up with him but the monk didn't stop, didn't slow. They all needed a break. Goliath seemed more agitated, his ears swiveling and the whites of his eyes more predominant. 

They came through a cluster of trees and suddenly he recognized where they were. “This way,” he said to the others and guided Goliath to the south. There was a cave up ahead, it was mostly hidden. Goliath came to a stop just outside of it and he dropped down, leading the horse inside. Once they were in the back he encouraged the horse to lay down. Gawain followed suit with his horse, hushing them as they settled. Gawain met his eyes.

“Are they still following? He asked. Lancelot nodded. He didn't fancy another fight. He was incredibly light headed from the extra ridding. He wobbled a bit before looking for a place to sit but then Gawain placed a hand on the side of the cave and it suddenly smelled like rain. The wind drastically picked up and dark clouds rolled in. 

“Are you doing that?” Lancelot asked, his voice cold. 

Gawain tapped his fingers against the rock and lightning struck in line. “I think so,” Gawain said in awe. But Lancelot wasn't impressed, he felt his stomach drop and he pulled Squirrel behind him while drawing out his sword. He swallowed thickly as he tried to focus on the Knight. 

“What are you doing?” Percival snarled at him. He tried pulling away to go around him but Lancelot just tightened his grip. 

“What happened to you?” Lancelot demanded. “How did you find us? How- how are you alive?”

It occurred to him that the last he had seen of the Knight, he was waiting for death to come and he certainly couldn't walk. The fact that he didn't remember that until now alarmed him. What kind of magic was interfering with his senses? His nostrils flared as he breathed in the smells around him. It smelled like the Green Knight but it also smelled so strongly of rain and this spark that he couldn't pinpoint. 

Gawain just starred back, his eyes a little bit wider, like he too was surprised to be standing and walking. He looked down at himself and then back up at Lancelot.

“I don't remember.”

“You couldn't walk,” Percival piped up. He stopped struggling to get away and Lancelot let him go. He stayed where he was, his voice small as he said, “You told me your legs wouldn't work.”

A heavy silence fell around them as the storm raged outside their little camp. Gawain moved farther into the cave and sat down. Lancelot's initial worry started to ebb away. Whatever Gawain was or whatever happened to him didn't seem to be an immediate threat. He sat across from him. It was dark now, he could barely make out his features. 

“When I woke, I was alone in a tent. I thought I didn't remember because of a blow to my head. It hurt something fierce.”

“Was there anything remarkable around you?” Lancelot interrupted. 

“I was on a bed of grass instead of the dirt ground.”

That did stand out but wasn't much to go on. They lolled into silence once again. Percival had gathered some twigs and branches inside that were dry. He began attempting to make a small fire. Lancelot watched him with a small frown. He didn't want the light to draw the padalins but it would be nice to have some warmth. Once the fire sparked, Gawain handed the child some water skins.

“Collect our water,” he commanded. Percival gave a small nod and went to the front of the cave. 

“I'm not a danger, to either of you,” Gawain clarified. 

Lancelot snorted as he applied a new bandage to his wound. “Nor am I to you,” he replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning  
> There's graphic self-harm in this chapter. 
> 
> I'm trying to find my love of writing again, so I appreciate everyone bearing with me. I'm getting chapters out on Sundays.

Lancelot woke with his heart racing. He shot up, ripping his injury open yet again – and pushed himself against Goliath. The horse nickered at him and then attempted to stand. His hand shot out to push the horse back down. He couldn't breathe. His eyes darted around the cave but he couldn't see. The fire had long gone out. It seemed like everyone was sleeping. Even the storm had settled down to a trickle of rain.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and nose and took many breaths. After a while, his heart slowed and his hands dropped. His tears felt cool on his cheeks and sniffled a bit. He felt drained, more so than the normal blood loss. He rolled to his side and dragged his bag closer to him. He needed to fix his bandage but he felt so empty.

In the moonlight, he could see the Green Knight curled up against his own horse. The child next to him. Percival looked cold. He was curled uptight but the damp night air wasn't lending any warmth. Lancelot struggled to his feet, stumbling as he pulled off his cloak and tossed it over him. Percival startled and met his eyes. He turned and hobbled back outside the cave, the night air biting a bit more than before. The rain was icy and sharp.

He didn't know what he was even doing with these people. He wasn't one of them. He was playing a part, leading to a future he did not know, could not even pretend to guess at. Impulsively he pulled a dagger from his sheath and yanked off his shirt. He let the blade fall again and again against his chest. Shallow cuts that left the handle slick with blood.

After a long moment, he remembers to breathe again. All the adrenaline out of his body. Leaving him heavy and weaker than before. He had wandered from their little camp and traveling back to it felt impossible. Instead, he dropped to his knees, the mud splashing up his clothes and fell over. 

His final thought was maybe he wouldn't wake up. 

His mouth was sandpaper, burning in his throat. He blinked his eyes open. The sun was bright, unrelenting. The mud was starting to dry, it could feel a thick layer plastered to his face. He pushed himself up and looked around. No one came for him. Disappointment settled around him. This realization confirmed his thoughts from last night. 

He stood, attempted to arrange his shirt so it covered the many cuts across his chest. Until they got to water again, he was just going to have to deal with the dirt. He, of course, took a bad situation and made it worse. Furious with himself he tried to pick his way back to the cave. He found the horses first, grazing outside of it. 

Goliath nickered at him and pranced closer. A smile tugged at Lancelot's lips. At least one creature seemed to miss him. He hugged the horse as Goliath nuzzled him. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

When he pulled away he was startled to see Gawain standing so close. The knight had one finger pointed in his face, which took him back a step. 

“Where were you?” Gawain demanded. “We've been looking,” he paused as he took in the sight of him. “And why are you covered in blood and mud? Were you attacked?” 

Lancelot didn't answer right away. Instead, he smiled, a bit. The sun felt good on his face and he was missed. He was missed and not kept. Not punished for being gone. That was a good kind of different. 

“Well?” Gawain interrupted his thoughts. 

“I was down the hill,” Lancelot muttered. “And the only one to attack me was myself. It's fine.” 

He took Goliath by the reins and went to put some space between them but Gawain's hand landed on his shoulder. 

“You don't need to repent any more, brother. You are finding your way back to who and what you are.” 

He didn't quite turn, but Lancelot looked back at him, responding harshly, “I'm a murderer. I'm guilty.” 

He jerked his shoulder away and walked to the cave mouth with Goliath. Gawain followed, hot on his heels. 

“You saved Squirrel.” 

Lancelot sputtered and turned to face him. “A child, anyone would have – you would have-” 

“Of course I would have, but you went against what they tried warping you into, it just proves – hey!” Gawain shouted and spun him around. He put his finger in Lancelot's face again. “It just proves that you're as good as the rest of us, even after they tried turning you against your kind.”

Lancelot kept his eyes locked on a tree over Gawain's right shoulder. Gawain considered him for a long moment. His hand dropping to press against Lancelot's chest. “You're just as good as any of us. Now, let's find some water and get you cleaned up.” 

Lancelot sat in the grass, trying to dry off. His boots were a few feet away, his shirt, pants, and cloak over a branch. He still had his undergarments on, giving some modesty. He hated to be so exposed but there was nothing for it. His clothes and his body needed to be washed. His injuries needed cleaned once again and rebandaged. His new ones were superficial, he cleaned them but didn't bother bandaging them. 

He could hear Percival talking in what the child must assume was a whisper about the many scars on his back. The cross on his head. 

“You might as well ask me,” he called over. “You're not as quiet as you think, Percival.” 

There was silence and then he could hear them approaching. He didn't know what to say, he thought. It was embarrassing. Strip bare and keep peeling back layers. They sat near him. Lancelot looked up into Gawain's face and found him smiling back. 

“The child has never had any manners and doesn't obey orders given.” 

“You Knighted me anyway!” Percival declared victoriously. “And I have more courage than any of your other Knights. You said it.”

“And I regret every word,” Gawain replied. “Now settle down.”

Maybe these layers were the price paid for joining them, he thought. He resigned himself for a hard discussion.


	4. Chapter 4

“I only remember when the Red Padalins came to my village,” Lancelot started slowly. His eyes darted between his two listeners. He never discussed this with anyone. Father would also have him repent anytime his lineage was broached. “I was very young. I hid. Farther Cardin wasn't the one who found me, but he was looking for someone like me. A young, ash folk, to save.”

“To twist into his weapon,” Gawain butted in. Lancelot tried to hide his flinch, but there was a stiff tick of his jaw. He ripped up some of the grass in front of him. He didn't speak as his skin went green and then flowed back to pale fawn. 

“He took me under his wing. We sailed to this land, it seemed like it took a lifetime to get here,” he paused, and then his voice came a little bit harsher. “I didn't like being away from the land.” 

“Father worked me during those travels. He gave me discipline and structure and religion. The more flogging, the more I repented for me sins,” his voice cracked, “It was meant to save me. The cleansing pain.” 

There was an uneasy silence. He couldn't look up. He didn't want to see what was on their faces. When no response came he continued. 

“They took a young orphan fey and told him the devil was inside him. There was never enough flogging. It was a daily ritual. Having the devil inside me meant I had be very disciplined and in control.” 

He plucked at the grass some more. Vibrant green rushing up his hand and fading away again. The sight made his stomach twist unpleasantly. 

“This wasn't allowed,” he gave a soft like scoff. He held up his hand and watched it move, green to fawn again. “If I slipped up, Father was convinced it was the devil reaching through me.” 

“They whipped you?” Gawain asked. Lancelot looked up in surprise. 

“No, I did it.” It seemed simple enough to say but he felt his face heat up anyway and he looked away from those warm, amber eyes. Lancelot wished someone would say something or that the ground would just swallow him up. He felt so exposed and on edge. He was still trying to sort out his own thoughts and beliefs.   
He was never allowed them before. He felt a spike of anger. Even now people wanted to tell him what he should think. 

“I wasn't given a choice, it became part of my daily life. In the early morning hours and again before sleep.” 

“That's why you have so many scars on your back?” Percival had asked. Children didn't have boundaries, Lancelot reminded himself as the child studied his back. “There are new ones.” 

Lancelot nodded. “For the more we suffer for God, the more he will shower us with his comfort.” 

“It doesn't sound like something a loving god would say,” Gawain said lightly. “Your birth wasn't something you decided, so why -” 

Lancelot stood abruptly, walked to his clothes,God and pulled the shirt on. A little damp still but he couldn't take being so exposed a moment longer. He could hear the moving behind him but he faced away. The urge to leave was strong. It felt easier to do than to face them again. 

He had the decision made for him when Percival tugged on his shirt. Time must have passed quickly because the sun was setting and Gawain was starting a fire for them. More conversation he feared. He allowed himself to be steered back to them and made his place across the fire from Gawain. 

“Why do we only have berries to eat?” The Knight asked. “I thought we made you a bow to catch us real food. Did you just gather sweets instead?” 

“Berries are real food,” Percival argued. “Besides, I couldn't find any rabbits.” 

Lancelot ate his berries silently but he agreed with Gawain. Some meat would do them all some good. 

“There's plenty of rabbit near us,” Lancelot spoke up. “I'm sure you could catch at least one.” 

Percival bounced off, eager to prove himself. Gawain set aside his pile of berries. 

“Gods, I hope he catches something.” 

Lancelot offered a forced smile. People were exhausting. He wasn't used to being around them constantly. Gawain was watching him with those deep eyes, a twinge of pink peaked through his sandy skin. Lancelot licked his lips. 

“Do you want to fool around?” Gawain asked. Lancelot choked on a berry. He didn't fail to notice the grin on Gawain's face. His own felt hot. 

“I'm a monk,” he said in way of an answer. Gawain shrugged and stretched out. Lancelot's eyes followed Gawain's long legs as he took up more space. He wrenched the back to Gawain's face when the latter started talking again. 

“You're fey,” he replied. “We don't have such hang-ups. There's no immediate danger and Squirrel will be gone for a while.”

Lancelot latched on to the mention of the child. “Why is he called Squirrel anyway?” 

If Gawain noticed the change in the subject, he didn't comment on it. 

“The child is fast and squirrelly.” 

“And how did you become the Green Knight?” he pressed. He was trying to avoid looking directly at Gawain. 

His smile was bright, like looking into the sun. Every time he said something, Gawain would smile just a bit more. 

“I'm a knight and I look good in green.” 

He blushed again. 

“That blush looks good on you,” Gawain said with a little nod. “I will have to tease you more. “ 

“You're very blunt,” Lancelot informed him. “I was not expecting that.” 

The night air became a bit crisper now that the sun was fully down. The soft flickering of their fire provided some light. 

“I've always considered myself rather sharp,” he said with a rather wolfish grin. Lancelot rolled his eyes and looked away. 

“I'm going to sleep,” he said. “Wake me if he turns with rabbit.” 

“Goodnight, Ash man.” 

The sun rolled across him, finally assaulting his eyes. Lancelot gave up on sleep. He could never continue in the daylight anyway. He took in the events from the night before. Lancelot felt his outlook on Gawain's proposition was now hazy. Maybe he had dreamt it. He stood and stretched, hearing his bones crack and muscles awaken. He was no stranger to hard grounds but he would have liked a pillow at least. He looked around their little camp. Gawain was already up, attempting to make some tea. The berries were in a small pile on a large leaf and looked a bit dry now. 

Gawain looked up at him and winked. He turned away, pulling his cloak over his head and shielding most of his face. He could feel his face heating up. Maybe he hadn't dreamed of it at all. Percival was still sleeping, his arm thrown over his face to block the sun. Soft snoring reached his ears. He wasn't ready to wake the child and so tried to remain as quiet as possible. 

Still, when his stomach gave a particularly loud growl Percival woke. Gawain set aside his waterskin and stood, stomping out the fire. 

“We should move, we've rested here too long.” 

They had packed quickly, since they didn't have many belongings. Gawain already on his mare and he pulled Percival up with him. Lancelot was looking Goliath over and then climbed up. 

“The fey camp is nearby,” Gawain said as he came up beside him. Lancelot shook his head. 

“We burned it,” his soft voice replied. 

“I figured as much,” Gawain said. “But it would offer shelter while we decide where to go next.”


End file.
